


Taking Precautions

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [256]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild D/s, Name-Calling That Everyone Is Ok With, Orgasm Denial, Rich Successful Boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 23:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18487021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Stephen gets in the car without a word, not so much as ahey  asshole, which is how Tony knows it’ll be a rough night.





	Taking Precautions

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: A: talk dirty to me | B: i'm not wearing any underwear because you never put the fucking laundry in the fucking dryer like I asked you to 100 fucking times.(from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator)) AND some A+ Ironstrange art over on [Umikkchann's Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/umikochannart), which if you're not subscribed to, friends, you should be.

Stephen gets in the car without a word, not so much as a _hey asshole_ , which is how Tony knows it’ll be a rough night.

“Bad day, darling?” he says, lifting an eyebrow and his third glass of champagne.

That gets him a snarl and half of a grunt so hey, progress.

He pours two broad fingers of bourbon and passes it silently; keeps his yap closed when Stephen downs it all one go. How the man drinks that shit like water and hasn’t burned a hole in his stomach, Tony will never know. But then, he’s not the doctor here, is he?

He finishes off his glass, feels the bubbles hum in his nose. “If it makes you feel any better, Doc, the tux is doing it for you. You should go full-on prom all the time; that cummerbund would kill over scrubs.”

“You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Hmm?”

“ _Doc_.” Stephen treats the word like a dirty sock. “I’m not some drunk who pulls teeth in a brokeback western.”

“Of course you’re not,” Tony says congenially, reaching for the Makers. “You’re a goddamn cranky bastard who cuts people open for money. That’s a full 100% better, at least.”

Stephen holds out his glass and doesn’t flinch when Tony cups the base, steadies it, the tips of his fingers kissing the edge of Stephen’s hand. “I cut people open for purely medicinal purposes.”

“Good thing you don’t enjoy it. That would just be weird.”

“Surgery is an art.”

“As long as you don’t put somebody back together a la Picasso.”

A flicker of a smile, like a flame trapped under glass. “Not this week, at least. Now, are you gonna let me drink this or spend the whole night holding my hand?”

Tony grins and lets go, unfurls a mental _Mission Accomplished_. “Is there something else you'd like me to hold? I'm open to suggestions."

“Mmmm.” More booze down the hatch and Stephen’s shoulders relax, steel melting in starlight. “Don’t tempt me.”

Their eyes meet and for the first time that evening, Tony can see the man he’s hitched his heart to: infuriating, passionate, prone to fits of irrational anger at God, the universe, and everything. A hell of a bastard in bed. But a healer, too, a man with altruistic instincts that he’s still learning not to fight; not a nice guy, but a good one, driven and smart. He pushes Tony in all the right ways and expects Tony to do the same back. It’s good, this thing between them. Not nice, sometimes. But good.

“Well,” Tony says, “you know, technically, we don’t have to go to this shindig.”

“Don’t we? The senator’s expecting us.”

“He’s already got our money. Hell, he sent a thank you card last week, remember? _Thank you for your generous donation_. I stuck it on the fridge.”

Stephen’s lips turn up; Tony’s pulse does the same. “We’re the headliners for this event, Tone. There are hands to be shaken, boot licking to be done; whose shoes will the mayor kiss if we skip? He’s desperate for you to write him a check. He’s getting his ass kicked in the polls already.”

Tony leans back, his head brushing the window. “He’s got a phone. He can call me.”

Stephen downs the last of his drink and sets the glass aside, lets his knuckles breeze over Tony’s thigh. “Yeah, but he wants to see you. Lots of other people there will, too. They want the full Tony Stark Experience. That’s what they’ve paid for.”

“I think that’s pretty much your purview these days, babe.”

A chuckle, an open hand that cups the curve of Tony’s knee. “You’re damn right.”

Sometimes, this is what it takes for Tony to drag his boyfriend from the edge of work-related despair. He knows the signs now, knows enough not to take it personally when Stephen steps out of the hospital wearing a fucking black cloud, a mood as pure midnight as his tuxedo jacket and tailored just as neatly, completely, to smother his skin. Somebody died today, probably, somebody Stephen thinks he should’ve been able to save. Even the surgeon isn’t God, though some days, Tony’s pretty sure that Stephen thinks he should be, that if given half the chance he’d demand to see God’s CV. The higher the odds, the madder Stephen gets when he fails to beat them, the more sorrow he swallows and buries in his gut, fevered and deep.

But they’ve been together long enough that Tony can spot it a mile away, like a brewing tornado, and he’s learned to take precautions, to dig another room in the basement, to not sit back and wait for the winds to destroy everything that they’ve built; he can see how easily that could happen, how it must have happened before with the few people Stephen had ever seen fit to let in. He’ll be damned if he’s stand by and let it happen to them.

“That feels nice,” Tony says now, a little breathless.

Those dark eyes on him, smirking. “What does?”

“The, ah”--Stephen’s fingers crawl inside of his thigh, hungry spiders on the way up--“the way that you’re touching me.”

“You like that?” Stephen’s voice is low now, the bottom of the bottle. “Really? Don’t tell me you’re getting hard already.” A sweep of his thumb, a soft push against his balls. “Tsk. Jesus, Tony. I’ve hardly touched you.”

His teeth find his lip. “I know.”

“You’ve chosen a very awkward moment for this.”

Tony’s hips jerk. “I _know_.”

“Tell me.” Soft words barely spoken. “Tell me what you think I should do.”

Just beyond the smoked glass, on the street, traffic is stopped all around them. There are people walking past them, for god’s sake, no further away than the width of the window, but nobody can see them and frankly, if they could, Tony’s never given a shit about public shaming.

“Take it out.”

Stephen’s nose brushes his ear. “Take what out?”

“My cock.”

“And why would I want to do that?”

“So you could touch me.”

In a heartbeat, Stephen’s palm is spread over his crotch, pressing just this side of too hard. “I am touching you, Tony. Can’t you feel that?”

Jesus god. There’s something in Stephen’s voice, the slow slag of it, the faux gentleness, that makes heat fill Tony’s cheeks. “Yes.”

“This isn’t enough, though. Is that what you mean?”

“Mmmm.”

Stephen smiles, makes sure Tony can feel it. “But if I take it out right now, here, you know what will happen, don’t you?”

Tony’s dick twitches. “No.”

“Oh, yes, you do.” Stephen’s hand lifts a little, makes up for it with a long, greedy stroke. “You’ll get excited. You’ll get big and stiff. You’ll start dripping.”

Tony shakes his head and swallows a groan. “No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you will. You’ll look down and see your pretty dick sticking out of your tailor-made trousers and you won’t be able to help yourself. You’ll start fucking my hand.”

He’s clutching at Strange’s jacket, crushing the velvet lapels, panting like he’s run the 100-yard dash. “I won’t,” he gets out. “I promise. I’ll be good.”

Stephen laughs. “No, you won’t. I know how you are when you’re like this, Tony.”

“Like what?”

“Desperate.” Stephen kisses his cheek, the underside of his jaw, licks at his sweat. “Vibrating out of your skin. You look like this when we’re fucking, did you know that? When I’m inside you and your hands are tied and you can’t do anything but lie back and take it.”

“Oh, god.”

A rumble. “And you know what the best part of that is? When I’m inside you like that? You’re so greedy for it, I barely have to fuck you at all. You arch your back and you raise your hips and I stay in there, shoved in your tight little hole, and watch you get yourself off on my cock.”

“Stephen.” The word feels like smoke, tastes like fire. “Stephen _._ ”

“You’re such a bad boy, aren’t you?” Stephen’s voice is hoarse now, sandpaper. “Such a needy little slut.”

Tony’s balls jerk, a warning. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? A slut?”

“You know I don’t like it when you call me that.” A lie, the best kind. One that makes them both moan.

Stephen bit at his throat. “Yes, you do.”

“No, I--”

“Liar.” A squeeze of his fist, too hard and too fast. “ _Slut._ ”

“Oh, Stephen, shit, _fuck_ \--!”

Then his fly is open, a surgical strike, and those long, perfect fingers are tight around the base of his dick, pressing, squeezing, holding every inch of his orgasm back, and he’s shouting, the bottles are shaking, the air in the car is strangled and thick.

“Now,” Stephen is saying when Tony can think again, fucking breathe, “I think we’re ready to shine for the senator, don’t you?”

“I hate you.” There’s no venom to it, no sting, only a sweet slide, like syrup. “I hate you so goddamn much right now, babe.”

Stephen turns his head and feeds him a kiss, then, another, again, deep, a little earthquake. “You’re just lucky I don’t have a ring. That would’ve made your little after dinner speech more interesting, don’t you think?”

“Like I said.” Tony grins against Stephen’s mouth, wider when he feels the catch of Strange’s teeth. “Hate. So much hate. Especially since I love that idea.”

There’s a buzz on the intercom, a dry, polite cough. “Uh, boss? Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt, but maybe you could get out of the car now? Security is giving me all kinds of shit.”

Tony hits the switch and does not watch Stephen put his cock away. He does not. “Security? What security, Hap?”

“We’ve been parked in front of the senator’s building for ten minutes, Tony. They’re getting pretty antsy. One guy said something about calling Homeland Security?”

“You’re a saint, Happy,” Tony says, shoving Stephen towards the far door. “Hazard pay for tonight, my friend. Hazard pay.”

“Oh, believe me,” the intercom wheezes as they scramble onto the sidewalk. “I know. Do I fucking know.”

“I love you,” Tony says in the elevator, in the last seconds that they’re alone.

Stephen gives him a leonine smile. “I know,” he says as the doors chime, as their fingers brush, as polite company beckons. “Oh, Tony. Do I fucking know.”


End file.
